


Honey Colored Sunlight

by orbitalknight



Category: Persona 3
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Spoilers, alternate 10/4, p3p canon, why am i writing slow burn again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-09 03:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13472688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbitalknight/pseuds/orbitalknight
Summary: Shinjiro Aragaki does not die on the fourth of October.A future he didn't expect to have is ahead.This time, he's not alone to face it.





	1. curtains

Shinjiro Aragaki wasn’t expecting to wake up. He supposed for a moment that maybe he hadn’t, but the chances of the afterlife looking identical to the Tatsumi Port Memorial Hospital seemed slim to none. His eyes were heavy as he tried to assess the space he was occupying. Everything was minuscule, though not in the way it had been before. He couldn’t figure out what exactly “before” had been, so Shinjiro watched dust tumble through sunbeams and counted the pauses between machinery beeping, only staying awake through the conviction that someone needed to see his eyes were open. Thoughts were distant, but this was one he could grasp. He couldn’t move even if he had wanted to, that was for certain, but he needed a witness. Someone to affirm that this wasn’t another dream he’d fallen through for however long he’d been asleep. The hours seemed to move as slowly as the dust. He was aware of too much and too little, struggling with the little he could do and the little he could remember. 

He battled with consciousness as a nurse peeked into his room, using all his energy to try and make eye contact with her. Shinjiro was painfully aware of the sound of his own breathing, struggling through the eventuality that she might not notice and he’d have to stay awake even longer. He was assured that he’d been successful when the nurse startled and rushed out of the room. Sensation faded, and the heaviness pressed down like before. This time, Shinjiro had some expectation of waking up. There was far too much he needed to do, he was sure. He didn’t need an exact recollection to be persuaded it was in his best interests not to sleep for too long, but that could be his problem later. The sounds he’d been counting lulled him ever so gently back to sleep, even while new ones joined the symphony, murmurs too far away to be of consequence. 

***

Murmurs spread quickly on an island where the sea breeze is strong enough to carry them. Though perhaps, in this case, it was not so much the sea as the anxious chatter of high school students that carried the news, that the Gekkoukan senior who few had seen regaining consciousness after being involved in violent crime. The school had announced that the chances of recovery were minuscule, hadn’t they? It was the same as the first conversations that had spread regarding the existence of this person at all, the same fear that had surrounded his return. When Akihiko Sanada had finally picked up on the shared whispers he’d been terrified for a moment it was October again, his heartbeat picking up speed with each bit of gossip. Everything he heard seemed to be a few days old, but it was more difficult to hear about things when he’d already graduated. Still in pre-college limbo, he’d been busy settling everything he’d need to move out. But he couldn’t focus on anything, his hands were shaking and his heart refused to slow down. It was this steady staccato that informed his footfalls as he finally raced to the hospital, everything else blurring away. 

Akihiko barely registered the time between his arrival at the hospital and when he actually made it to Shinjiro’s bedside. Fragments of sentences stuck with him, as did more pamphlets than he could hold. Apparently he’d been the first person to come calling about Shinjiro after he’d regained consciousness, and visitors were actually allowed now that his condition seemed to have stabilized. The hospital staff urged him not to be disappointed or discouraged if Shinjiro wasn’t highly responsive, explaining that recovery was going to come in stages, how miraculous it was that someone who had been in a coma for five months was awake at all. The statistics and percentages didn’t stick with Akihiko, as much as the staff praised the rarity of the whole situation. Even as he drifted through it, just the walk through the hospital hallway seemed to take longer than the time Akihiko had spent running over. Without the crowd it would have been just as long as his visit in October, even though that one hadn’t been allowed. 

Shinjiro had been propped up on some pillows, and he was looking at the windows. Not out, because there were still curtains blocking the actual glass. His hair was longer, just as messy as it had been last time Akihiko had seen him. There was a plate of half-eaten hospital food on the bedside table, none of which looked appetizing. Shinjiro was a picky eater in full health, so Akihiko made a mental note to pick up some food for next time. Something they could eat together, maybe. There was a chair next to the bed that Akihiko found himself sitting in, not quite sure of how he’d gotten there. In all his rush, he hadn’t figured out what to say. This was a scenario he’d played over and over again in his head, something he’d convinced himself that would happen because he’d planned for when it would. But here, in the moment, no words made themselves readily available. 

“I’m an idiot, Shinji,” he’d said, mostly to himself, head in his hands and fingertips buried in his own hair.

The response was one he’d heard many times, though it was spoken in a voice that was rough from neglected use. “I know.”

Akihiko snapped to attention, but there’d been no change in the room. He was certain he couldn’t have imagined Shinjiro’s voice, even though all the evidence made it seem like he had. Something the doctors had said, how it was unlikely that there could be any verbal communication for a while. One of the pamphlets Akihiko had been given crinkled as he shifted in the chair, reminding him of its existence. He pulled the pamphlet out of his pocket and flipped through it, hoping there would be something else he could say in there. Eight stages of coma recovery. Memory books. An anecdote on how everyone hopes to be the breakthrough, the one who starts a conversation. Maybe he had just imagined the response, as disheartening as the thought was. Akihiko folded the pamphlet and tucked in back in his pocket. He’d read the rest of it later, and make plans. That was how his brain worked. Schedules, training regimens, timetables. He’d plan out what days to bring ramen and what days to bring beef bowls, and eventually Shinjiro would go with him. Pragmatism that spat in the face of tragedy. 

Akihiko looked up and found Shinjiro’s gaze ready to meet his. He startled, nearly falling over. Akihiko hadn’t been able to see much because of the way that Shinjiro had been facing before, but now his whole chest tightened. He’d thought that nothing could leave Shinjiro more ragged than the two years that his dearest friend had spent on the street, but this was worse. Akihiko balled his hands into fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. He’d no intention of looking away from Shinjiro, but the tears clouding his vision made it impossible not to. Planning ahead couldn’t do much for the reality that was right in front of you. Akihiko had cried in front of Shinjiro more times than he could count, but this was the most embarrassing of them all. There was nothing he could do to stop the flow of tears or his shoulders from shaking, though. He cried for what felt like a long time. 

Shinjiro was smiling when Akihiko finally managed to pull himself together. He laughed a little, which quickly devolved into a coughing fit. Akihiko could think of nothing to do except stand up, confusion and worry scrawled across his face in equal measure. Shinjiro recovered quickly enough, though his breathing was shallow and slow. Akihiko moved as though he was going to get help, but Shinjiro stopped him with a half-shake of his head. Even that small of a motion seemed to take a great deal of effort. It was difficult to watch. 

“Sit down, Aki,” Shinjiro rasped, and Akihiko immediately complied, “I’m alright. Glad this is real.”

There was so much that Akihiko wanted to say, so much that didn’t fit in the pamphlets. The words stumbled over his tongue, so the only one left standing was a half-whispered “What?”

But Shinjiro’s eyes were shut, and Akihiko knew better than to demand he open them again. The room buzzed with quiet noises, machinery and Shinjiro’s breath. Akihiko stayed in the chair for what felt like a long time, reluctant to deprive Shinjiro of the company. It took a nurse’s prompting to get him to leave, and even then he lingered at the doorway, uncertain. He could come back later, with better words and questions and something good to eat. His walk back to the dorm went by quickly, filled with thoughts. Akihiko elected to wait a while before telling everyone that Shinji was awake and they could visit, for fear of it being overwhelming, but he assumed most of them had picked up this same gossip that he had. He figured there was one exception that needed to be made, just in case. 

***

Ken Amada wasn’t used to miracles. He’d been in his room working through dismally boring math problems when Akihiko had knocked on the door. Ken had a tendency to be reclusive, but talking to Akihiko made him less nervous than most anyone else. He’d opened the door, expecting an offer to go get something to eat. The two of them had done that a few times since October, not quite surprised they had very similar tastes when it came to food. At first conversation had been less than ideal, but it became another something Ken wasn’t so nervous about anymore.  
Akihiko didn’t seem in the good spirits of someone in the mood for a late meal. The silver-hair senior had his arms crossed and was chewing his lower lip, an anxious habit that Ken had caught himself imitating a few times. Akihiko startled at the sound of the door, a smile replacing the worried expression he’d worn a few moments prior.

“Hey!” Akihiko’s tone was conversational enough, “I wasn’t sure if you’d be around right now, but since you are. Want to get something to eat?”

Ken’s gaze dropped to his shoes. He was hungry enough, sure, and his math homework wasn’t due for another couple of days, but... “Is something wrong?” he asked, out of habit.

“No, nothing’s wrong!” Akihiko’s reassurance was immediate. “A good thing happened, actually? Probably?”

“Ok...” Ken looked up for a second before dropping his gaze again, “Where are we going to eat?” He probably didn’t need to ask. It was always one of two places with Akihiko.

“The beef bowl shop? Hagakure is fine, too. Just somewhere we can talk.” 

Ken nodded to himself. Those were the two. “Beef bowls sound good,” He smiled, knowing that Akihiko would insist they do something different if Ken gave any indication that whatever the older boy picked didn’t actually sound good. 

Ken’s response seemed to have the desired effect because Akihiko seemed immediately relieved. The two of them made it out of the dorm without anyone inquiring as to what they were doing, and caught a train to the Iwotodai strip mall. It wasn’t an eventful journey over, and neither of them spoke. Akihiko was back to pensively chewing his lower lip and stopping immediately whenever he noticed that Ken was watching. Clearly, whatever thing had happened couldn’t be as good as Akihiko was making it out to be. Ken had a feeling regarding what this whole thing was about, but he wasn’t about to ask and find out he’d been wrong. If it was what he suspected, though, Akihiko’s craving for comfort food was easy to explain. 

The beef bowl shop always smelled a very particular and delicious way, so neither Akihiko nor Ken got to talking right away. Once they were finished eating, Akihiko took a deep breath. Ken tried to do the same, but anticipation held the air on its way out.

“I saw Shinji today,” Akihiko said, noticeably overwhelmed with the memory as he spoke. “He woke up a few days ago, and his condition is stable enough that people can visit now. I... Thought you should be the first one to know.”

Ken released the breath he’d been holding. His intuition had been half-right, but this was actually better news than he’d been expecting. “Thank you,” he said, “I appreciate that.” The phrase was parroted from overheard conversations, so Ken wasn’t sure if he was using it correctly. Not that he knew what else to say.

Akihiko nodded. “Yeah. Don’t feel obligated to go or anything. If you do, though...” a pause as the older boy frowned, “I should probably say that you shouldn’t expect too much.”

“Ok,” Ken mimicked Akihiko’s nod, “I won’t expect too much if I visit.” There was a long stretch of silence, both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts. Finally, Ken spoke up again. “It’s good that he woke up.”

Akihiko’s reply was distant. “Yeah, it is.” 

Ken’s feet didn’t reach the floor, so he kicked his legs a little. “Did you get to talk to him at all?”

A sigh from the other end of the table. “Not a lot. He really doesn’t look good, Ken. I’m glad he’s awake, but this is hard in a different way.” Akihiko put an elbow on the table, then rested his head on his hand. “I think he’d be glad if you visited, but don’t go just because I told you to,” another sigh, “I’m sorry. It’s getting late, isn’t it?”

Ken was fairly certain not much time had passed, but he didn’t see any reason not to head back to the dorm. The train ride back wasn’t any less quiet than the initial journey to the beef bowl shop, but Ken didn’t really find this to be a problem since he had plenty of things to think about. He’d need to write down all the things he wanted to say to Shinjiro, even if a conversation was going to be as difficult as Akihiko had said it was. He’d wanted to visit in October, but back then he’d been terrified that his presence anywhere near the hospital would somehow worsen Shinjiro’s condition. Ken was used to curses, not miracles. Once the two of them were back at the dorm Akihiko parted ways at their shared floor. Ken had every intention of getting back to work on his math, but couldn’t focus. 

Aware that trying to finish something his head wasn’t in wouldn’t help his grades, Ken scoured his desk drawers for a notebook. He found one after a while, cheap and spiral bound. There wasn’t anything inside except tear marks where a couple of pages had been ripped out. Ken stared at the blank page, trying to recall anything he’d heard other people say in this sort of situation. He gave up on that after a few minutes, too. There wasn’t anyone who could figure out what to say except for him. He picked up the pencil he’d been using for his other homework and started writing. Some of it was coherent, some of it wasn’t. Ken poured out everything he could think on the empty pages until he could barely keep his eyes open. He was sure something would be worth saying when he was ready to visit Shinjiro. There had to be at least one thing. 

That assurance was enough. Ken crawled into bed and slept dreamlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this is my first persona fic please be gentle ,, i really adore these characters and their relationship growth throughout the story so i wanted to do more with that and write something pleasant!! i love all three of these boys with my whole heart
> 
> anyway i know this isn't a very pleasant chapter i promise it will get warmer... also i apologize for the cheesy title
> 
> thanks for reading !


	2. notebook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihiko shows up at the hospital with ramen, and later Ken with 20 pages of writing. Shinjiro finds all of it exhausting.

Akihiko was again breathless when he visited Shinjiro, even though he hadn’t run all the way to the hospital this time. In his arms was a plastic bag, two to-go orders of Hagakure ramen leaking steam from within. It wasn’t exactly the famous Hagakure special; Akihiko had thoroughly checked what he could bring in with the hospital staff, but it still smelled delicious. Shinjiro was awake again when he walked in, looking a little less glassy-eyed than he’d been before. It had only been two days since Akihiko’s last visit, so any change was probably a good sign. He was planning to formally announce the news to the rest of the dorm if Shinjiro gave the ok. Hopefully the ramen would help, even if it wasn’t the way that Shinji usually liked it.

Akihiko busied himself organizing the bowls, nervous he wouldn’t do it the way Shinjiro preferred. Was it noodles into broth or broth on top of noodles? He opted for the latter, hoping that the look Shinjiro was giving him was one of approval. The food smelled even better fully assembled, and Akihiko was glad he’d earned the meal from walking all the way over. Shinjiro was silent even as Akihiko passed him a bowl, staring blankly at the broth. Akihiko was reluctant to start eating even once he was situated in the same chair as before, waiting to see if what he’d brought would go the same way as the untouched hospital tray on the bedside table. 

There was a lengthy pause before Shinjiro spoke. “You didn’t have to do this.”

Akihiko replied without hesitation. “Yes, I did. Are you going to eat that?”

Shinjiro scowled, filling his mouth with noodles instead of responding. 

Akihiko sighed internally, relieved at the normality and that he could finally start eating. It was a conversation unrestricted by the setting, the familiarity immediately reassuring. The two of them ate in silence, the atmosphere notably less oppressive than the other day. Something about being with Shinjiro gave Akihiko the sense he was at home, and he found that feeling again in the hospital room. The curtains were drawn back today, letting in honey-colored sunlight. 

Once the ramen was gone Akihiko stacked up the bowls and utensils and put them back in the plastic bag he’d brought them in. There was no point in making extra work for the hospital staff. He settled into the chair at Shinjiro’s bedside, then spoke. “So, you’re doing better today?”

Shinjiro let out a long breath. “Better than last time you were here, maybe. Don’t feel much less shitty.”

Akihiko processed the statement for a second. “I should bring beef bowls next time, then? You need some meat.” 

“I can’t argue with you, can I?” Shinjiro was scowling again.

“Maybe I’d let you if you actually ate the food here,” Akihiko said, gesturing to the tray he’d noted earlier, “But no, you can’t.”

“Could you wait to lecture me until I can actually defend myself? That’s cold, Aki.”

Akihiko shrugged. “I’ve got five months worth of lectures saved for you, Shinji.”

Shinjiro was silent for a moment, then spoke especially quietly. “That many, huh?”

Akihiko nodded. “You have some catching up to do.”

Shinjiro groaned, which was his usual response to the insinuation that he’d be required to talk to anyone. Akihiko was sure the attention would be appreciated nonetheless, though perhaps more appreciated if it came in smaller increments. He’d be sure to mention that when he finally talked to everyone. For a moment, Akihiko toyed with the idea of waiting even longer to share the information and keeping Shinjiro’s company to himself for a while, but he brushed the thought away as quickly as it came. It was selfish to think he deserved more time than all the other people who’d spent the past months worrying.

“Hey, Shinji,” Akihiko spoke after a pause, “I was going to tell everyone you’re awake if you’re feeling up to seeing them.”

Shinjiro had rolled over so his back was to Akihiko. “Alright.”

Akihiko nodded, standing up out of the chair. “Alright. I’m off, then.” He was halfway to the door when he stopped, remembering. “I sent Ken your way already, actually. Thought you’d like that.”  
Shinjiro didn’t acknowledge the words. Akihiko grabbed the empty ramen bag on the way out and made sure the door closed softly. 

***

Ken still hadn’t gone to the hospital.  
The notebook he’d started was heavy with words, even if most of the pages were empty. He’d opened it each night since Akihiko had spoken with him, writing as long as he could. Ken wished he’d thought of this sooner, because then maybe he’d stop putting off the visit. Too many words and not enough. He’d walked past the hospital a few times, trying to see if he’d actually be able to go inside. But the pounding of his heart was far too loud, and thoughts of curses still echoed anxiously in his mind. He’d linger at the entrance and walk away, over and over again. In October he’d vowed that he wouldn’t be sad or nervous when he saw Shinjiro again, but it was turning out to be much more difficult than he’d thought. Ken would always bring his notebook, holding it like he actually intended for this to be the day, the right time to say what he needed to. He’d stare the cover, feeling the cold metal of the spiral binding dig into the hand he held it with. 

He was locked in one of these one-sided contests when Akihiko jogged out of the main entrance to the hospital. Ken was terrified the silver-haired senior would notice him, ask if he was on the way to see Shinjiro. Because he’d have to say yes, and then live up to the promise. Ken stared as Akihiko bounded past him, entirely oblivious. He looked blankly the direction Akihiko had gone even after the older boy had disappeared, incredulous. His momentary terror had been nothing at all, but his heart refused to believe it was true. Ken didn’t even want to let go of the imaginary promise he’d made, despite having never spoken it aloud. He turned, looking straight ahead at the hospital doors, and let his feet carry him inside. 

Ken found his way to Shinjiro’s room slowly, like he was following a treasure map written by someone even younger than him. Eleven steps to the reception desk. 58 and a half up the stairs and down the hallway. No X marked the spot, there was no fanfare when the door was held open to let him in. Ken stood in the doorway for what felt like ages. He couldn’t see much, just part of the mess of Shinjiro’s hair. It was longer than he remembered. He was jarred out of his thoughts when the door finally slammed closed behind him. Those ages he’d felt hadn’t been anything more than a few seconds. Ken squeezed his notebook, trying to cling to something that felt certain. His heart was racing, but he couldn’t move. 

Shinjiro rolled over, making a production of the motion. “Aki, did you forget something?” Clearly, he couldn’t see the doorway from the bed, either.

Ken took a breath that felt too shallow and too loud. Two steps out of the doorway and into the room. “It’s not-- It’s not...” another breath, “It’s me.”

There was no sign of recognition on Shinjiro’s face for a moment, and then memories seemed to come all at once. “Oh, it’s you.”

The notebook felt heavy in Ken’s hands. Akihiko had been right to warn him about appearances. The image of Shinjiro nearly dying in the alley had been present in his thoughts all this time, and this wasn’t that. It wasn’t the face of a dying person, but it didn’t seem fit for someone living, either. Ken was stuck in place, save for his shaking hands. Was Shinjiro waiting for him to say something? Or to do something? Whatever it was, he doubted he could. But he had to. He had to prove he was living his life the way he’d been instructed to. 

“There’s a chair,” Shinjiro said, “Over here.”

Ken pictured the treasure map again. Maybe the X hadn’t been on the door, but rather the chair. His steps were stiff, and he sat down equally stiffly. Shinjiro followed this near-robotic motion with his eyes, worry furrowing his brow. Ken let the notebook rest in his lap, folding his hands on top of it. He crossed his ankles, then uncrossed them, unable to look Shinjiro in the eye. Hospital silence, fuller than silence anywhere else, threatened to swallow up the occupants of the room.

“Listen,” Shinjiro said, finally, “I know Aki put you up to this. Go home if you’re not feeling it.”

Ken curled his hands into fists, making a sound on the cover of the notebook. “No, I wanted to. And I said I wouldn’t be sad, and I wrote down lots of things to say.” 

“Yeah?” Shinjiro’s voice had always been edged with a sandpaper sound, but it was greatly more pronounced now. “How many is lots?”

Ken opened the notebook, wincing at his own handwriting. “Like, 20 pages?”

“Alright. If you read it all to me now, I’m gonna fall asleep.” Shinjiro sighed, “Aki’s fault, not yours.”

Ken’s gaze ventured to meet Shinjiro’s. “Can I leave this here for you to read when you wake up?”

“Yeah. That’s a good idea, yeah.” Shinjiro was nodding, his eyes closed already. 

Ken nodded back. “Ok. Can I tell you one of the important things before I go?”

Shinjiro opened his eyes again. “Go for it.”

Ken took a quick breath, hyping himself up. “The Dark Hour doesn’t happen anymore. We got rid of it. Tartarus, too.” He smiled a little then, pride warming inside of him. That was something he didn’t need to write down. 

“No shit?”

“No...” Ken’s mouth fumbled with the words, “No shit.” Cursing in front of someone else was exhilarating in its own right. His hands weren’t shaking anymore as he stood up, placing the notebook on the table by Shinjiro’s bed. He took a few steps toward the door, then stopped. “I’m going to go now if that’s ok.”

“You don’t need my permission,” Shinjiro said, then tilted his head in the direction of the notebook, “Do you want this back when I’m done with it?”

Ken thought about the offer for a second before nodding. “I think so. Thank you.” 

Shinjiro gave a half shrug as a response. 

Ken left the hospital room much more smoothly than he’d come in, not even bothering to count the steps. He felt silly, almost, for how nervous he’d been. He was happy to have been the first one to break the news about the Dark Hour, even though it was surprising that Akihiko hadn’t already said something. Nothing weighed his hands down as he made his way back to the dorm, and Shinjiro had given him an excellent reason to come back with more words. 

***

Shinjiro slept once Ken had gone, waking when the first sunlight from the following day peeked through the curtains. Despite having done nothing but rest, he was exhausted. Socializing had always worn him out, but it was even more difficult now. Talking was a workout, his brain still struggling to put the pieces together. He supposed for a second that he wouldn’t have been able to hold two conversations in one day if the past two hadn’t been totally quiet. Still, he was grateful. His freshest memories were of that loneliness when he’d first woken up, everything before that a messy blur that made him physically ache when he thought too hard about it. Ken had stirred up the tangle of images, so things were starting to come back. Nothing quite fit together, though. Akihiko was impossible to forget, the familiarity of his presence had been welcomed both times Shinjiro had seen him.

Shinjiro had started to develop a routine for when he woke up, half in the hope that it would be grounding enough to keep him awake. He put aside time for thinking, and then he’d move the pillows so he could sit upright until the hospital staff came to check on him. Apparently, his condition had drastically improved around February, stabilizing to the point where he could breathe on his own again. Other details had been for the most part lost on him. Even when his memory had been clear, his knowledge of medical procedure was minimal. Except for something. There was something he knew. Shinjiro frowned, trying to concentrate on whatever it was. But the memory was like a spiderweb and fell apart as soon as he thought he had it. 

One of the staff members Shinjiro had become used to seeing opened the door to his room some indeterminable amount of time later, bringing with them a plate of hospital food. That was something Shinjiro had come to dread each day, and it wasn’t just because nothing tasted good. He spoke with the staff member for a while, though it was less actual speak and more nods and shrugs. Today wasn’t a talking day, because yesterday had been so much talking. He did manage to ask for a pen, though. He was going to follow Ken’s example and write down what he wanted to say next time. It wouldn’t matter if the words were in the same notebook, right? It would be like a pen pal or something. Shinjiro was informed that a pen would be no problem. There was surplus, apparently, in a particular brand with red ink, that someone less fortunate had left behind. 

He decided to page through the notebook from Ken, procrastinating how frustrating eating would inevitably be. Even with the motivation that he’d be at Akihiko’s mercy if he kept putting it off, Shinjiro wasn’t quite feeling up to the labor that eating was. Ken’s notebook wasn’t heavy, even if the brown haired boy had been holding it like it was. Shinjiro’s hands were unsteady, and he opened the notebook with extra care. Ken’s handwriting was small and neat, but still that of an elementary schooler. Even when he read each line twice over, the words didn’t connect coherently. There was still too much missing in his head to put this thought-spill into a context he could respond to. He put the notebook back where Ken had left it and stared at the ceiling. Still felt shitty. Still didn’t want to eat. But he didn’t want to get another earful that he had no defense for from Akihiko. 

Shinjiro’s gaze shifted to the chair where Akihiko had been, picturing the first visit. There had been crying. What had he said? That he was glad it was real? Shinjiro squinted at the empty chair, trying to unravel the mystery of his own words. He gave up. Not a battle worth fighting today, if he was going to be facing a whole lot of conversations in the near future. His attention had to be on eating for a little while, and then more resting. More remembering too, hopefully. The curtains had been pulled open a little further, and the sunlight didn’t feel too terrible. Shinjiro watched the dust fall as he’d done a few days before, but this felt less terrible, too. Maybe this whole thing would have a not so shitty outcome. It was worth hoping for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this took way longer than i was hoping it would but here it is!


End file.
